


Repetition makes Perfect

by dandylyings



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandylyings/pseuds/dandylyings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think you're depressed, but you won't tell anyone out loud. If you say it out loud it will no longer be true. You do think there is something wrong with you, but rationalization is better than medication – so you will wait until you are better. You will wait until you feel happy again. You will wait."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You say you are, you say you are

I

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, but you won't tell anyone out loud. If you say it out loud it will no longer be true. You do think there is something wrong with you, but rationalization is better than medication – so you will wait until you are better. You will wait until you feel happy again. You will wait.

II

You are waiting.

III

Your mother thinks you are fine.

Your mother thinks you are fine.

Your mother thinks you are fine, and you're the one that convinced her. You bring her flowers on your way to her house. They are paired with a fresh batch of Publix cookies and a fake smile, both she takes with genuine love.

You both talk about things you didn't expect yourself to be talking about at age twenty-four. She asks you about your engagement with Sam, you talk about how your ankle is healing. When she leaves momentarily for the bathroom you eye her medication she left on her kitchen counter with guilt.

You want to take them. You want to take them. You want to take them all.

By the time she comes back, you're sure you are depressed – but you don't tell her out loud. You tell it to her with heavy eyes and a longing goodbye hug. You whisper it to her in your "I love you."

You hope she tasted it in the cookies.

You will wait until she does. You will wait.

IV

You are still waiting.

V

You tell Sam that you don't know if you are ready. You tell him it's too early in your relationship for you both to make this type of commitment. He tells you that he believes that he is ready, but that he wants to be ready together. You believe him.

He is too good to you.

He tells you he will wait for you. He will wait for you.


	2. Brittany the Masochist

I...

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, and Sam's still waiting. You've moved out of his apartment and into one of your own.

You don't even know how you've managed three months on your own, but you have.

II...

You are lying in bed watching old re-runs of So You Think You Can Dance. You've been doing this all week.

III...

Michael, the guy who got your job, is actually really good at dancing.

You hate him for it.

You took your first shower in the last three days to visit your old dance studio. When you walk into your old four-o-clock class and set against the wall, you watch Michael do what your ankle won't allow you.

He's just so fluid and so heart-felt and just so damn happy.

And you hate him for it.

When you do get the chance to meet him, he's draining a bottle of water. His students have already left and you introduce yourself as a different set comes in. He asks you to call him Mike, which you reply with a smile before continuing to call him Michael.

You're not his friend. You're not his acquaintance. You're not anything.

He's charming and funny and quiet and reminds you of your father. The only difference is that he has a smile that stays.

And you hate him for it.

You decide to stay and watch his six-o-clock class since you're a masochist. If you couldn't tell this was a beginner class by the skill level, then you definitely found it out by the complaints. The class is only about twelve people, but the wheezing and whining sounds like that of double – and that's just from one person. He's chubby and choppy and clearly not a dancer and you automatically love him for it. By the time the class ends, you're sure you want to be his best friend. You're superficial in that way, you guess.

By the time you get to your feet, Michael is already continuing to be charming. He greets the main complainer, Finn, with open arms. You didn't notice how tall Finn was while he was dancing, you guess it's because his height wasn't the thing making him stand out. Finn smiles back at Michael's encouraging words before crouching down to gather his things.

You hobble over to his position with the grace of none.

You introduce yourself. Nothing too spectacular - just your name and a fake smile. He accepts it before doing, what you think to be, the same. You both talk for a few minutes before he says he has to leave.

When he does, you follow him out. Leaving the studio behind you.

IV...

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, and it still hurts to walk.

V...

Sam is still waiting. Or at least that's what he said on the voice mail he left you. He said that he still wants to be with you, and is still willing to wait. It's been seven months since you broke it off, but you know is telling you the truth.

You also know you'll make him wait forever.

You don't love him.

You don't love him.

You don't love, anymore.


	3. Falling and Falling on purpose

I...

 

You think you lost your mind when you lost your virginity.

 

II...

 

"Brittany," your mother sighs over the phone, "you haven't been around in a long time."

You think about the last time you saw her, about four months ago. You brought her the regular: flowers, cookies, lies. She replied her same: hugs, smiles, genuine affection.

You were waiting for her to finish her routine of asking you questions.  
(She asked you about your desk job, which you hate. And your lack-of-friendships. And your lack of motivation. And your lack of smiles and cheer and joy and love and happiness.)

(She even asked you about your relationship with Sam, in which you said nothing.)

But she didn't stop because of the reasons she normally does. Instead of stopping because there were no more questions, she stopped because she knew you had no answers.

You waited and waited and waited for her to ask another question.

You waited and waited for her to stop thinking over her cookies and continue.

You waited and she waited. And you smiled and she didn't. And you tried smiling harder, hoping she'd stop looking at you like she couldn't remember. And you hoped she would just do something else. And so you just started talking about Sam and desk jobs and friendships and motivation and happiness and you smiled and smiled and smiled harder. And she just stared and stared.

And when she finally opened her mouth, she asked you if dream of flying.

And you cried.

And you left.

And you knew you were depressed.

You knew you were depressed.

You knew you were depressed, and she tasted it in the cookies.

III ...

You ran/walked four miles today. You told your mom. It made her happy.

 

VI ...

 

Your father often dreamt of flying. He was a bird in another life, you think. But, like, a penguin or chicken; one of those birds that don't get the chance to enjoy what the others do. You think your father was a chicken. A chicken who thought he was a eagle.  
And he thought he could fly.

Or that's what your mother told you when you asked her why your father jumped from that building. But now you know that he didn't jump because he thought the air would catch him, but because life hurts less when your falling.

Your father dreamt of falling, and you do, too.

And you hate yourself for it.

You hate yourself for it.

You hate yourself.

 

V ...

 

You visited Charming Michael's dance class again, mostly because you're a masochist. It's becoming a habit. It's the third time in the last two weeks you've sat in. But it gives you a reason to shower, plus you're mom has been calling more than you'd like - so it's the best option for right now.

Finn is trying his hardest and it makes you want to give him a gold star for effort. And you tell him that when the class is over and he's crouched over his stuff, packing up his various empty water bottles and sweat soaked towels. He laughs at your comment as you walk him out to the door.

He strangely reminds you of your old best friend, Puck, who you learn he also knows. He says that Puck is throwing a party tomorrow night and that he's sure Puck would love to see you. You tell him that you'll think about it, but it sounds more like you're saying you'll take a rain check. He gives you his number in case you change your mind.

You want to go to the party.

You want to go because at parties there are free drinks.

And happy people.

And (possible) good music.

And dancing.

(And because you're a masochist.)


	4. You are superficial

I...

 

You told Finn you're going to Puck's party. He sounded super excited about this. He really wants to introduce you to his girlfriend, who everyone awkwardly calls Sugar (because she hates her first name), and you really want to meet her. You guys are going to eat at some bar before you all head off together.  


You like that his excitement is contagious, and you automatically love him for it. 

 

II ...

 

You've decided you want to punch Sugar in the face... Until she offers to pay for your meal, and then you decide that she isn't that bad. 

You're superficial like that, you guess.

 

III ...

 

Puck picks you up when he hugs you. His arms feel like memories and he smells like smoked jolly ranchers. You didn't realize how comforting his touch was until he let you down to greet Finn in a bro-tastic, manly hug. 

He continues to make his rounds when he gives Sugar a weird pat/hug, and then excuses himself to greet the other various people coming into his house. You always loved Puck's parties, mostly because you heard them before you could see them. The music was always loud, the people were always arriving by the dozens, and the drinks were always plentiful. His parties haven't changed, you notice.

 

VI ...

 

You haven't danced for almost two years, and it feels like it. But your ankle is actually holding up and you're taking full advantage. 

You take a break from popping and locking and dropping to finally catch your breath. You've been at this for hours. The dancing around you continues as you move away from the grinding bodies and towards the entrance of the kitchen.

You're tired and sweaty but oh so surprisingly happy. When you reach the kitchen, the first thing you want is a bottle of water. Conveniently, Charming Michael finds his way to you with one. 

"Who knew you danced?" He shouts over the music. "You're killin' it out there, girl!"  
You fake smile and accept the water he hands to you before walking further into the kitchen where the music is less. You turn toward him and reply with a well-practiced smirk, "there's a lot you don't know about me, Michael." 

You take this time to look at him fully, and let your mind wonder how long he's been here. You've long since left Puck, Sugar, and Finn to the call of the beat and haven't actually socialized this whole night. He could've showed up anytime over the last three hours, so you stop trying to speculate as he continues to talk. "Brittany," he says, "you can really call me Mike." He has a smile that's genuine and it reminds you of your father and you hate him for it.

You fake another smile before you take a swig of the water in your hand, "okay, Michael." You say, because you still don't think of him as a friend. But he laughs, because he must think you're trying to be funny or flirty and you shrug because you just want to drink water then dance; however, his laugh is interrupted by two chicks. One, the Asian looking one, drunkenly grabs onto Michael's bicep protectively before staring at you expectantly. The other one, the Hispanic looking one, just looks at you. You stare back at the two girls before giving your own expected look at Michael because you really don't have time for a jealous girlfriend and her wanna be bitch bestie right now. Not when you're in the best mood you've been in, in forever.  


Michael clears his throat as he registers this as an awkward moment. "Brittany, this is my girlfriend, Tina," he says while gesturing toward the Asian girl with the arm she isn't holding. "Tina," he continues, "this is Brittany. She stops by the dance studio from time to time." You smile your practiced smile in her direction when he says your name with all the energy you can muster at the moment.  
She says a quick, but slurred Hi before dragging Michael away, leaving you with the one girl he didn't introduce you to. 

She's still staring at you. And you wait and wait and wait a minute or two for something to happen but she doesn't say anything. It starts to creep you out a bit because she's just staring at you like she's trying to remember.  
You're about to walk around her, but as soon as you start to move, she speaks. "You're Brittany, right?" She asks you like she isn't sure before shaking her head because she realized that, that was a dumb question. You both know she heard Michael literally just say your name. "I mean," she starts again, "you're Brittany Pierce?" She shakes her head again when she realizes how stalkerish she sounds and you think she deserves more of a gold star for trying than Finn. An you're in such a good mood that you actually start to laugh because that's a funny thought, and you laugh and you laugh as you nod your head to answer her question.

And she just watches you laugh, as her face flushes a bit, before she joins in with you. And you laugh and she laughs and you both double over. You don't even know why you're laughing anymore but you feel so good and the music is so loud and you feel like you could carry this smile into your dreams. 

And she finally calms down enough to awkwardly reach out her hand like a dork and say her name, and you shake it as you continue to laugh.  
"It's very nice to meet you, Santana." You say. 

And she smiles at you.

And she smiles at you. 

And she smiles and you think you want to be her friend. 

 

V ...

 

It's been a month since the party and you've since visited your mother. You brought your usual: flowers and cookies. And she accepts both with a smile and you actually smile back. 

You tell her about how you've spent the last two weeks at the dance studio. You tell her about how you want to get a new job, one that doesn't have you behind a desk. You tell her that you actually answered Sam's call, but you don't tell her that he is no longer waiting. 

You don't tell her about how your ankle still hurts when you stretch it. You don't tell her that you only showered because she wanted you to come over. You don't tell her that you haven't slept more than three hours because you dream of flying. 

When she leaves to use the rest room, you still watch her pills with interest. 

You still want to take them. You still want to take them all.

But your mother thinks you're fine.

Your mother thinks you're fine.

Your mother thinks you're fine, and you're the one that convinced her.


	5. Chapter 5

I...

 

You run into Santana at the grocery store.

You run into Santana at the movies.

You run into Santana at the bookstore, and you still don't have her number.

 

II ...

 

"Somedays aren't yours at all," Quinn sings from her spot behind the bar. You're staring at her because she is pretty and has really white teeth and she's distracting you from your nerves. She's the type of pretty that makes you feel like your face is beyond help.

You've been hanging out with Puck and his friends a whole lot more lately. They love coming to this sports bar a few blocks away from your job, so you find yourself here a lot.

It's just you Puck, Finn, Sugar, Michael and Tina sitting around a table, and you guys are waiting for two more. The two you invited: Sam and his fiancé, Mercedes.

This is the first time you're spending your free-time with Sam since you ran into him last month at the bookstore. He told you that he is happy now and you told him that you're dancing again, and all you could think about while he explained his last two and a half years without you is that you keep running into people at the bookstore. Then you thought about your weekly lunches with Puck and his friends that are becoming daily lunches, and when he said he wanted you to meet someone, you couldn't wait to say yes. He was there and this was an opportunity you had to take. And all you could think about was the missed opportunities you had - in just that month alone.

You thought how you barely use your phone anymore, and about all the numbers you don't have. You thought you wouldn't wait for this opportunity to go by. You needed to start living, you think. You needed to start living for those who can't.

You continue to chant that in your head until you see a flash of blonde hair come through the door. Sam is smiling back at a girl whom looks scared for her life as he pulls her in after him. She is beautiful, with curly black hair with the skin to match. Her lips are the perfect pouty, her height is just below his, and her smile is completely contagious. She is the total opposite of you, and you automatically love her for it. Not for superficial reasons, surprisingly, but because Sam doesn't deserve another girl who can't love herself.

As shocking as this isn't, Sam completely hits it off with the other boys at the table. They are all dorks and make you laugh by that fact alone. It makes you think of bookstores and movie theaters and parties you've been to. It makes you think of a lot of things you didn't know you remembered. Things like how Santana was in the Self-help ales, reading rigorously and proud before you said hello. Or how she wore the perfect boot/jacket combination while going to go get eggs and beans. Or how she, too, went to see a movie alone.

Sugar's cough startles you back to the table, back to conversation that is insanely confusing since you haven't participated in it. She is laughing as she coughs, so you guess she just drank water wrong. You take this time to look around at the group of people you're with. They are talking about things you never expected yourself to talk about at twenty-six, and for the first time that doesn't bother you. They are talking about subjects you know you'll forget, but are giving you memories you'll remember even after your head hits the pillow.

When you do go back to your apartment, you take the time to actually smile. You've been doing it so much lately that it's starting to feel natural again. You smiled with Sam as he told you about Mercedes, you smiled when she told you that you were beautiful, you smiled when she bashfully looked away when you told her the same. She was nice and kind and grateful for reasons you don't know, but you are happy that you had time to meet her. You wonder, while thinking of Mercedes, why you were nervous to begin with.

Her hug goodbye was longing, and you got her number for future occasions.

You think you have friends.

You think you have friends.

You think you have friends, and you're okay with that.

 

III ...

 

"Brittany," you hear her say in surprise, her left hand over her chest. "God, you scared me," she breathes out.

You were walking from your job to the bar for lunch with the "gang," when you saw her on the opposite side of the sidewalk. You might have, maybe, ran across the street just to get to her. You might have taken her right hand into your left because of reasons. You might have laughed when she screamed, which turned into a sigh and a head shake. You might've asked her to accompany you for lunch.

And after being full and free, you might have even, just maybe, asked for her number.

 

VI...

 

"What's your favorite color?" You ask her. It's ten-o-clock and you just got home.

The first thing you did was call her.

"I've already told you," she says with a laugh. You shake your head no, though she can't see, as you ask her when you were told such vital information. "Last week, when you asked me why I hated coconut so much." She says. And she's right, and she knows it, and you remember, too.

But you don't want to tell her out loud.

You continue around your mess up, making it into a joke. You love hearing her laugh. It's one of those things that make you want to sing.

You just don't tell her out loud. It would be too creepy to just spring that on her. If you did tell her, you'd have to wait until she's laughing again, that way it's like you just thought of it.

It's three in the morning and you're still on the phone. You feel like a teenager again, and you tell her that. She laughs her sleepy laugh, you think it's the one you love the most, before asking you another question.

"What age did you start dancing," she asks. For a second, you almost regretted being the shifting point of the conversation. You sit there, thinking of a way to answer such a simple question before she continues on, rambling, "you don't have to answer, or anything. I was just curious but if it makes you uncomfortable -"

You cut her off with the story of when you stopped dancing. You could've easily answered her question, but you'd rather just get this out of the way.

Plus, you're a masochist.

You tell her about how you almost made it. You tell her about what you could've been talking about at age twenty-six. You tell her about Christopher Scott, the amazing director, and how he hand-picked you for his new show. You tell her about Mathew Diamond and how you were so close.

You don't cry when you say, "I was a week away from signing the biggest contract of my life," because you don't get that right. To be honest, not dancing isn't the hardest thing in the world for you.

Which makes you stop your story short. Because you don't tell her that it was a car crash. You don't tell her about Marley or Rachel or Kurt. Or that you only fell because you were thrown. You don't explain how it hurts to know that they died and you didn't.

You don't tell her that you were responsible.

You don't tell her that you were responsible.

You can't tell her that you are responsible, because she might hate you, too.

You don't want to tell her out loud, because then it will become true.

 

V...

 

"I think were in Elephant's for each other " she says after your confession.

And you smile, because, like, what?

"What do you mean," you chuckle, you arms shifting to hold you together. "What does even mean?"

"Because," she says before going to sleep. She says it so confident that you believe it makes sense.

Because, you think. Just, because.


End file.
